


The Writing on the Wall

by Spencer5460



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Coming Out, Domestic Violence, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: A young woman questions her loyalties and re-evaluates her ideas about of love.





	The Writing on the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> The events of this story take place shortly after "The Plague".

Amber held the wet towel to her mouth and let its chill sooth her cut lip. She knew from experience the swelling would take several days to go down. Damn Tom anyway. Or maybe damn _her_. Tom always said she was the one who egged him on. Who made him hit her. He had a quick temper and she just didn't know when to quit. 

The thing was, she didn't know what she’d said that morning that had been stirred him up. She'd just asked where he’d been. It was nearly two a.m. by the time he'd gotten home. She'd lain awake for hours, lonely and afraid. What if he'd gotten hurt? Who could she call? Where could she go? She'd only been worried, but he'd backhanded her anyway. The blow had snapped her jaw sideways and a tooth had pierced her lip viciously. The taste of copper lingered. 

A knock on the door of their apartment caused Amber to set the blood-tinged towel down on the counter. She looked cautiously out the window to the street four floors below and saw a sporty red car with a white stripe parked at the curb. It stood out easily from the neighborhood’s usual non-descript sedans and rusted pickups. 

Amber felt herself tense. It had to be someone for Tom. She rarely got visitors herself, especially not in a car like that. But Tom had left after downing two cups of coffee and the toast she'd made. She didn't like being alone with his friends. She hated the way they looked at her and crowded her space. The way a hand invariably brushed her breast for no reason. The way she'd feel her backside groped if she had to walk past. Tom told her that she was so pretty men just couldn't help themselves. Guys would be guys. So that was her fault, too. 

The knock came again. Amber peered out the door’s eye hole. A man in his late twenties or early thirties with curly dark hair and a well worn leather jacket stood in the poorly lit hallway. He wasn't from of Tom’s group of friends or one of their neighbors. 

“Who is it?” Amber asked. 

“Police.” Curly pulled something from his back pocket and held it up in front of the eye hole. It was a detective’s badge. 

The sight wasn't a comfort. Amber was leery of police. Their motto might be “to serve and protect” but they'd never done anything to prove it to her. 

“I'm Detective Dave Starsky,” the man said. “Do you mind if I come in?” He wasn't rude but he wasn't hesitant either. He sounded like a person who didn’t back down easily. 

Amber opened the door but kept the chain lock in place. The small opening the chain allowed didn't diminish the cop’s surprisingly warm smile. 

“I'm looking for Tom Gilly. This is where he lives, isn't it?”

There was no point in denying it. “Yes, but he's not here right now.”

Footfalls sounded sluggish and heavy on the nearby stairs and Starsky turned in their direction. “Hutch, I thought you were gonna wait in the cahr,” he said. 

A second man who had joined him was presumably Starsky’s partner, but Starsky didn't sound pleased. Amber wondered why. Didn't these guys run in packs? All the better to intimidate or just to cover each other’s asses. 

“I'm a cop, not an invalid,” Hutch gave a little cough. “Besides, we're still supposed to be a team, remember?” The cough turned into a spasm and Starsky’s attention turned completely from Amber to his partner. Through the opening in the door, Amber saw Hutch lean over and brace his palms on his knees as his shoulders shook. Starsky put a hand on Hutch’s back, gently supporting him through it. 

“I told ya you're not ready for four flights ‘a stairs,” Starsky admonished his partner, a tall cool blond, as if Amber wasn't even there. 

“I’m fine,” Hutch bit back. “So you can lay off the mother henning.” But the rebuke was soft and Starsky didn't seem offended. 

Against Amber’s better judgment, she opened the door wider. “You might as well come in.” 

Starsky pointed Hutch to a chair in Amber’s sparse living room and Hutch didn't need further encouragement to sit. Once settled, Starsky’s hand went to Hutch’s shoulder and stayed there. Amber fixated on the gesture. She saw the hand give Hutch’s shoulder blade a firm squeeze.

“Would you mind getting my partner a glass of water?” Starsky requested. Amber looked up embarrassed, as if she’d walked in on a couple in an intimate position, and went into the kitchen where she filled a glass with tap water. When she returned a minute later and offered up the glass, it was Starsky who took it with a polite ”thank you” and handed it to Hutch. 

With his partner’s coughing fit ended, Starsky turned back to Amber. “When will Tom be back?” he asked, as Hutch looked around the room, sipping at the water. Did he judge the mismatched furniture, the curtains that didn't quite fit the window? Why should Amber care? 

She shook her head, pushing back the tousled brown waves that fell in her face. She knew the instant Starsky saw the swollen and bruised lip.

“Looks like you had a little accident.” His hand went from Hutch’s shoulder to her face but she jerked away as if touched by a cattle prod. 

“I slipped in the bathroom.” The lie came out easily enough but Starsky’s eyes were piercing. While he didn't press her, she suspected he wasn’t one to simply accept words hastily spoken. Her skin prickled. Why did she feel compelled to invite them in? Now she just wanted both the cops gone. 

“I'm sorry I can't help you. Tom works odd hours. I never quite know his schedule.”

“What kind of work does he do?” This from Hutch. Despite the pallor of his face, Amber was struck by his handsomeness. The golden hair, eyes the color of robins’ eggs. Beautiful men were even more dangerous. 

“He works for a contractor,” Amber recited, then shrugged her shoulders. “He’s always on the go.”

“Is that so?” Starsky said. She was glad he didn't ask her to elaborate. Instead he asked, “Do you know Mr. Wu who owns the laundromat on the corner?”

She nodded. Mr. Wu’s place was where she took their laundry twice a week. The owner was a quiet old man who ran a neat shop. The machines, though old, were well maintained and the folding counters kept wiped down. She appreciated that. Freshly washed clothes were sometimes the only things that made her feel clean. 

“Someone jumped him Monday night, broke his knee,” Starsky told her. 

Amber winced at the image. 

“Someone thinks the attacker might have been Tom. We have to check it out. You know about his record, don’t you?” Hutch added. 

“That's wrong,” Amber insisted, ignoring the comment about Tom’s record. “Who said it was Tom? Mr. Wu?”

“No, Mr. Wu said he was hit from behind in the dark and didn't get a good look at whoever it was,” Starsky said, although he didn't sound convinced that Mr. Wu didn’t have more to tell. Hutch and Starsky’s comments intermingled seamlessly, making her feel as though she were conversing with just one person rather than two. 

“Will he be okay?” She asked, looking from one officer to the other. 

“It's hard to say. He's an old man and his job needs him to be on his feet,” Hutch explained. 

“I'm sorry. But Tom had nothing to do with it.” Amber _was_ sorry. Sorry for Mr. Wu, sorry for people who washed their clothes at laundromats, sorry for the lies that came so easily. Some days she was sorry for the whole damn world along with that guy in the story who carried it on his back. 

“Look, we’d just like to talk to him.” Starsky handed her a card with his name and the phone number of his precinct in simple black letters. “If he was near the scene, maybe he has some more information he could give us.”

“No, no. He wasn't there.” Amber tightened her lips and felt the cut throb. 

“Are you sure?” 

Amber stiffened her spine. “Of course I'm sure. He was . . . with me all night.” There. Tom had to be happy with _that_. 

“Well, if either of you think of anything that might help us find the perpetrator, we'd appreciate you letting us know. Anything at all.” Hutch stood and handed her the empty glass. His color had improved and Starsky’s vigilance seemed to have relaxed because of it. 

The officers thanked her for her time and left. Amber locked the door behind them, then went to the window where she watched the men get into the flashy car, Starsky behind the wheel. She watched him turn to Hutch as if to say something - or perhaps to double check on him - before he put the car in gear and pulled away. 

ooOOoo

“Did you hear about Mr. Wu - the old man who owns the laundromat?” Amber asked, setting a plate of spaghetti in front of Tom. Food always seemed to make uncomfortable discussions easier. Tom didn't spare her a glance before shoveling a forkful of pasta in his mouth. 

She sat down across from him at the small table and dished out some spaghetti for herself. The sauce was an off brand, flavored with meat. 

“What about him?” Tom mumbled, his mouth half full. He washed the spaghetti down with a swig of beer from a can. 

“Someone jumped him. Smashed his knee.” Amber twisted the long strands of pasta around the tines of her fork. 

“Who told you that?”

“Two cops. They came around asking people in the neighborhood if we knew anything about it. Someone thought they might have recognized you.”

“What?” Tom slammed down the beer can, making the flatware and Amber jump. ‘What did you say?”

“I said we didn't know anything. That was the first I'd heard of it. I told them you were with me when it happened. So they went away.” She left out the part about them leaving a card. 

“Yeah, sure baby,” Tom settled back on the armless vinyl chair. “What _could_ you say?”

Amber felt the tightness in her chest slowly unwind like the pasta on her fork. She didn't blame his agitation. His short stint in city jail a few years back weighed heavily on him. The assault charge had been a stupid misunderstanding. And cops never gave people like them a break. If his collar had been whiter he'd been let off with a wink and a nod instead of having to go through the humiliation of booking and nearly three days in jail until he'd scrounged up enough money for bail and a low life attorney. 

That was before she and Tom had met. He'd explained it all to her the night she'd threatened to call the cops on him. She'd twisted her ankle badly when he’d pushed her down the stairs but he’d tearfully begged her forgiveness, whimpering how he rather die than spend another night behind bars. A night away from her. He loved her that much. His declaration had shaken her as much as the fall. His love for her made him do crazy things. Love was such a complicated thing. 

When he finished his plate he pushed away from the table and came behind her. He put his hands on her breasts and kissed her roughly on the neck. The smell of garlic and cheap beer blended on his breath. Then he reached down further and unsnapped her jeans, shoving a hand in her crotch. “Come on baby. How ‘bout some dessert.”

Tom pulled her up from the chair and turned her in his arms. He ground his lips on her mouth. He must have forgotten about her cut but she didn't remind him. 

“You know I don't like you talkin’ to cops but you said the right thing.” He led her to the chair in the living area and bent her over. He used a knee to spread her thighs and she moaned as a finger plunged in her center. 

“If they come back again, tell them we were doing _this_ all Monday night.” He shoved himself into her, then vigorously pumped in and out as she moved her hips to accommodate him. She wished she better understood the concept of pleasure/pain. Better understood how Tom’s use of her body insured her place in his heart. But then she realized as she gripped the fabric of the chair that she hadn't said exactly when Mr. Wu was attacked. 

Tom’s pace intensified and she tried to enjoy the act, to focus on how much meant it meant to Tom. It showed that he loved her. But in the midst of his noisy release she was remembering a simple glass of water and strong hand on a leather clad shoulder. 

ooOOoo

There was no getting away from the bright red car that drew up next Amber as she pulled her little metal cart down the sidewalk. She was still several cracked and littered blocks from her building. So she did the next best thing. She jutted out her chin and walked at a brisk pace, trying to ignore the dark-haired driver the way she had the neighborhood bullies when she was a kid. Sometimes it even worked. 

“Hi, Amber,” Starsky called out as if they were friends. _Shit._ An alley was just a few yards ahead and she didn't doubt he'd turn the car in to block her if he had a mind to. She was familiar with the stupid things men would do to get what they wanted. So she broke her stride and gave Starsky a curt nod. 

“How ya doin’?” He put the car in neutral and leaned across the seat, giving her a big smile. Even though she’d only seen him once before, it seemed like he was missing something important until she realized what it was. Hutch. 

“Fine,” Amber murmured. Without his partner, she could guess what was coming next. A ride in his car down a quiet little alley. Roaming hands and wet lips. Her words against his.

“Would you like some help with those bags?” Starsky offered.

Amber shook her head. 

“I won't bite.” 

“Where’s your partner?” Amber asked. 

“He took the day off. Still fighting that . . . cold.”

“Oh.” 

“How's your lip? Any more falls lately?”

Amber’s hand went to her mouth in an unconscious gesture but then she pulled it down when she realized what she'd done. “No, no more falls.”

Starsky had gotten out of the car and come around to open the passenger side door next to her before she realized it, an oddly chivalrous action. Before she realized it, he had hefted her cart into the back. After that, she felt she had little choice. She climbed cautiously into the passenger seat, pushing aside last month’s issue of National Geographic and a book on UFOs, her heart pounding. Candy wrappers lay scattered about. Except for the radio and the Mars Light on the floor, the inside of the car looked nothing like any police vehicle she’d ever been in. 

“Sorry for the mess,” he said. “Hutch is always houndin’ me to clean up. But I like ta keep things cozy. This here’s kind of our home away from home.” He shot her another grin and she couldn’t help think how easy his grins seemed to come. As if happiness was natural. 

Amber had lived out of a car for awhile. The memories weren’t pleasant. She wanted to ask how Starsky made spending so much time couped up in a car sound practically fun, but she could guess. Even without him being there in the flesh, Hutch’s presence in the front seat was as strong Starsky’s.

Starsky parked in front of Amber’s apartment building and lifted the cart and bags from the back as if they were half their weight. He followed her up the stairs and for once she didn’t mind the hall’s dim interior that hid the stains and rips in the carpet. Although nothing could camouflage the ever present stale odor of beer and cigarettes. 

The Gonzalez’s baby in 205 was crying again. Mr. Harper in 311 was watching a rerun of the Andy Griffith Show, his TV overly loud. “Tom still isn’t here, if that’s what you’re wanting,” Amber told him in between floors three and four. 

“That’s okay. You said he’s not who we’re lookin’ for anyway,” Starsky replied lightly, lifting the cart high enough so it wouldn’t bump against the stairs as they climbed. 

“He’s not,” Amber stated firmly, stopping and turning to him at the top of the third flight.

“Yeah, I get it,” Starsky said. “I’d still love to find the guy who did a number on poor, old Mr. Wu. And he’s not the only one who’s had trouble around here lately.”

“What do you mean?” Amber turned her back on him as she started up the final group of stairs. At the fourth floor landing she pulled a key out of the pocket of her loose fitting cotton jacket and turned it in the lock of her door two units to the right. 

Amber wished she could just thank him for carrying her groceries, step inside the apartment and close the door behind her, locking out the world, but Starsky followed her in as though she’d invited him to tea. He pulled the bags out of her cart and set them on the kitchen table.

“There’s been several robberies in the neighborhood In the past few months, most of them just mom and pop shops,” he said. “People who don’t take in much to begin with.”

“That’s too bad. But there's nothing I can do.” 

Amber thought if she busied herself putting away her groceries Starsky’d get the message that his good deed for the day was finished and leave, but instead he sat down at the table, leaning onto it with his forearms. 

“Ya would if ya could,” Starsky said. 

Something grabbed at Amber’s stomach as she held a can of peas. “You don't know anything about me.”

“Hutch ‘n me have been around these streets for a while now. I think we’re pretty good judges of character. Whoever's doin’ it will trip up soon. It doesn't take some big hot shot to mess with little people.”

Amber tried to change the subject as she went back to unpacking her groceries. “How’s your partner doing with that cough?”

“Better, but he was pretty sick there for a while. As a matter of fact, a few weeks ago he almost died,” Starsky said, unexpectedly soft. A shadow crossed his face and for a moment his worry, and relief, were nearly palpable. Amber didn't know if she could have borne the overwhelming emotions longer than those few seconds. 

“At the last minute we found the guy whose blood had an antibody we needed to save him. Hutch may have been the one who was dyin’ but it shaved a couple years off of my life, too, I don’t mind sayin,’” Starsky’s smile returned at that. “A good pahrtner is hard to find.” 

“That’s nice,” she murmured before she caught herself.

“What is?” He asked and she felt her face heat. She didn't need a cop to make her feel like a fool, but she finished the thought anyway. “To feel that connected to someone else.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Starsky replied sincerely. He didn’t make her feel foolish. His smile, while pleasant before, became glorious. As if it shared the sun’s power to break through thick fog, to warm all the chilled places. 

He stood up from the table. “If you happen to hear something about the robberies, we’ll be around,” he told her. When the detective left, the apartment felt colder and emptier than ever.

ooOOoo 

Amber looked through the door’s eye hole half expecting to see Starsky or Hutch or both on the other side, not sure how she’d feel if she did. She had no reason to be friendly with cops, and more than a few not to. But instead, it was her younger brother, Grant, who was standing in the hallway, shifting nervously. 

She and Grant had rarely seen each other since she’d gotten together with Tom. She’d thought he might even have forgotten where she lived. His hair was a little longer than she remembered, but his clothes, a plaid, collared shirt and neat brown pants, made him look down right respectable. He could have been taken for an insurance salesman or a department store manager - someone sensible and normal - though they both knew he was neither. 

Grant and Amber hadn’t come from a picture-perfect family. They spent practically as much time in foster care as they had with their mother, Marian. And Marian had spent much that time either drunk or sleeping it off. Other times Marian would curse her lousy waitressing job, customers who left piss-poor tips, or their worthless father who’d left them with nothing at all. 

Amber had tried to earn Marian’s affection by keeping their place clean, looking after Grant, and making good grades, but it was pointless in the long run. As they got older, the Marian brought home after the bars closed began to pay more attention to Amber than to her mother. That didn’t sit well with Marian; her children had stolen enough from her as it was.

But it wasn’t just Amber who got unwanted attention from men. Grant, too, found himself an unwitting recipient. He was a little too soft around the eyes, a little too easily pushed in dark corners. Life had to have been even harder for him than for her. The jokes were cruel and the confrontations ugly. At times, Grant would wince when he sat. Seeing Grant on the other side of the door brought it all back. She’d tried to protect him, but she could barely protect herself. She felt for him but she’d failed them all. 

To his credit, Grant had finished school while Amber had dropped out. A career wasn’t going to offer a way out for someone like her. Other than keeping her head down and looking good in tight jeans, she had no particular talents.

Amber met Tom at the local roller skating rink where she’d hang out whenever she could. Rolling skating wasn’t exactly her thing, but she thought it might a better place to meet people than in bars. It was nice to blend in - or hide - in groups of happy people. Tom actually had a job at the rink, handing out skate rentals and wiping down the returns. Sober and employed were two huge pluses in Amber’s world. He was ambitious, too. He told her he was only working at the skating rink until something better came along. With his good looks and cockiness, it was easy to believe. Tom had taken her away from Marian. And from Grant, too. 

Amber opened the door to Grant. “Tom’s not here,” she said when his eyes darted around.

At the reassurance, Grant’s edginess eased. “You look good,” he said.

“So do you,” she replied in automatic response. But Grant _did_ look good. While his eyes still held a haunted look, there was a shade of hope in them, too. “Do you want anything? A beer?” She asked. 

“No, thanks.”

Amber waved him to the chair as she sat on the couch, curling her legs under her and sinking into the furniture’s sagging springs, Watching Grant try to make himself look comfortable and self-assured, and practically managing, she nearly smiled. _Look at us, so grown up._

Adulthood wasn’t anything like she’d imagined it would be. The radio’s top forty, the TV sit coms they’d escaped into as kids, were all just illusions and lies. Reality was a cramped apartment filled with thrift store furniture; rickety grocery carts pulled over cracked sidewalks; old men getting roughed up for trying to earn a living. A lover who left her lonelier than she sometimes thought she’d be on her own. But she’d been reminded enough times how she’d never make it alone. 

“So how are you and Tom?” Grant asked, and she hoped he hadn't read her mind. 

“Good,” she said. “It’s all good.”

“That’s good,” he echoed.

“What’s new with you?” she asked.

Grant cleared his throat. He looked from side to side as if checking for listening ears. Then leaned forward, earnest and hopeful. The delicately featured boy had become a fine looking man. “I’ve met someone,” Grant said. “His name is Perry. I know you'd like him.”

The look on Grant’s face, the way he’d said Perry’s name - as if the very word was precious and rare - spoke volumes. This was much more than a fling; a few nights of secret pleasures that the daylight chased away. This was something solid enough to hold on to. 

“Oh?” The word caught in her throat.

“That’s what I came to tell you. We’re moving to San Francisco. We think maybe things will be . . . easier for us there.”

Amber didn't know if the tug she felt in the pit of her stomach was because she was happy or sad. Her brother had found the thing he’d been looking for most of his life. But San Francisco seemed a world away. Maybe that was best, under the circumstances.

“We’d like to open a small business there,” Grant continued, “like a coffee shop or maybe a bookstore. Perry has some friends there who can help us start out.”

Amber pictured her little brother as one half of a happy couple, surrounded by friends, running a successful business and felt the lift of a smile, until the image morphed into Grant laying in a heap, beaten, the victim of petty thug, and the smile dissolved. 

Grant didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve never told you this before, but I wanted to say something for awhile now. And I don’t know if we’ll ever . . . I mean, I don’t know when . . . Anyway, I, uh, want to thank you for sticking up for me all those times. I’m sure you wished every day for a different kind of brother, but you got me,” he chuffed. 

“I didn’t do so much.”

“You did what you could, which is more than most. Hell, you could have _disowned_ me and I wouldn’t have blamed you. You’ve been a pretty good sister. Don’t count yourself out.” 

She suddenly felt awkward and out of place in her skin. She looked down at the carpet until the silence between them grew heavy, one more burden to shoulder. “You’re not so bad as a brother,” she offered at last, although a thousand other things were on the tip of her tongue. 

Grant seemed satisfied and smiled. In that smile Amber could see the little boy he’d been. Innocent and trusting. Loving. What had been so wrong about that? What was so wrong with it now? She started to ask something, but Tom came in just then and she swallowed. 

“What’s going on here?” He asked, a sharp ledge to his voice. 

“Hi, Tom.” Grant stood up quickly and turned to face him. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Tom grunted and walked to the refrigerator, nearly knocking into Grant as he passed. He pulled out a beer and pulled the tab.

“I just came to tell Amber I’m moving to San Francisco,” Grant said. 

“Is that so? Well, that’s as good a place as any for someone like you. I hear the place is crawling with fags.” Tom smirked.

Grant stiffened and looked Tom in the eye. “A friend and I are looking to start a small business there.”

Amber felt a stir of admiration. She rose and stood next to her brother. “They’re going to open a bookstore or something.”

“Sounds like a loser operation to me.” Tom took a gulp from the can and wiped the arm of his sleeve across his mouth.

Grant ignored the comment and turned to Amber. “I’ll call you when I get all settled.”

She nodded and found herself caught up in a tight, brotherly hug. She was amazed at how much a touch could convey. 

ooOOoo

“You know I don’t like him over here,” Tom said when Grant had left.

“He just came by for a minute.”

“A minute - an hour - whatever. He gives me the creeps.” Tom reached in the ‘fridge for a second beer. 

“It’s not catching, Tom.”

Tom sent her a glare from over the top of his beer. She knew the look well, she just never knew what was coming next. The wide-lipped grin of the charmer who’d first attracted her, or a hard hand that meant he’d been pushed too far.

For a minute she watched his cheek twitch, then his face relax into a smile. He set the beer down on the kitchen table and reached for her hips, pulling her against him. “Enough about that fairy. I’m in too good a mood.”

She reflected his smile back at him. “What’s got you so happy?”

“Unlike your loser of a brother, I don’t need a fuckin’ bookstore to make money. I’m gonna get me a raise real soon.” Tom kissed her roughly. There was a time she’d get easily caught up in his mania. Winning a hand at poker or bar fight would lead to frenzied sex on the kitchen table or living room floor. Lost in the exhilaration, nothing else mattered. 

“What do you mean?” She asked cautiously now. She wished she knew more about how he made his money, but he didn’t like to be questioned. He’d told her she should just be happy with what he provided - a roof over her head and a man in her bed. What more could she expect? Who did she think she was?

He nuzzled her neck and growled. “That’s not for you to worry about. Come on, I’ll show you how a real man does it.” Then he pulled her into the bedroom. 

ooOOoo

Amber fell asleep on the couch. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Strange dreams had been leaving her restless. In the middle of a nightmare, her eyes flew open. A figure was standing at the window and terror flared through her until she realized it was just Tom. She sat up groggily and shook off the remnants of sleep. In the pre-dawn light she made out that the sleeve of Tom’s shirt was ripped and dark stains were splattered across the front. 

“Tom, what happened?” Amber reached out to touch him but he shoved her away. His eyes were wilder than she’d ever seen them. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen, I swear. I was just goin’ to rough him up a bit.” Tom turned away from her and paced across the apartment floor, dragging a hand through his hair. She got the feeling he was talking more to himself than to her.

“What? Rough up who?” That he’d been in a fight was obvious, but not like the brawls he typically got into when he'd been drinking or needing to blow off steam. She hated to admit it, but some days she even welcomed the brawls, since they focused his temper on something other than her. It took so little to provoke him. 

“He had a gun. Christ, how was I to know he had a gun,” Tom was saying. 

The terror spiked back but this time it wasn’t from a dream. It was real. “What are you talking about? Who had a gun?” Amber asked. 

“The chink who runs that crummy laundromat. All he had to do was give me the money. But he pulled out a gun.”

“Mr. Wu?”

Tom stopped in front of her and she could tell he was holding something in his other hand. “Don’t play dumb,” he said. “Who did ya think?”

“What money was he supposed to give you?”

“Fuck, Amber. The money he owed me. But he tried to rip me off.”

Tom seemed to be speaking in a foreign language she couldn’t understand. The words jumbled in her head, her confusion evident. 

“Where do you think the money comes to pay for this place? From shining shoes? Christ, Amber. Regular are for losers. I tried and got nowhere. I don’t have time to work my way up the food chain,” Tom’s voice was full of agitation. “So I take a little here, a little there. Half the time, people around here don’t even notice. Don’t even call the cops,” he gave a pathetic laugh. “Probably because they’re all skimmin’, too.”

“Wu’s place was easiest of all. One little Chinaman and all those shiny quarters. But Wu said he could get me some big money if I would let him be. After I whacked his knee. He said he knew some people who would pay big bucks for American jeans, tennis shoes, shit like that. The good labels. Not knock offs. So I got them for him. You know that old bit - robbin’ Peter to pay Paul?” Tom let loose a wild laugh. “But then he tried to rip me off.”

Amber was starting to feel sick. Tom stealing? Beating up old men? They’d never been Mr. and and Miss America, but she didn’t think they’d sunk that low. She’d never wanted to hurt anyone. Maybe because she knew all too well what that felt like. 

“How could you do that?” She asked as she heard the whine of a siren grow in the distance.

Tom must have heard it, too. His voice suddenly changed. “I did it for us, Amber,” he insisted. “Because I want us to have a good life. I wasn't getting anywhere the way I was goin’.” 

“No, Tom. You call this - ” she gestured to the shabby surroundings - “a good life?” Amber felt something powerful simmer. “You call coming and going at all hours, with me never know where you are, a good life? You call running off my only brother and any friends I might have had, a good life?”

“Shut up, Amber. Just shut up!” His tone changed again - menacing and ugly. She flinched as he lifted his hand to her but he checked himself. She saw then that what he’d been holding was a gun. She’d never known him to own a gun. _Oh god! What was going on?_

“What happened to Mr. Wu?” She asked, beyond caring that pressing him might earn her a black eye or worse.

There was a roar of a car engine on the street below. The screech of brakes and heavy doors slamming.

“I told you,” Tom’s face was crumbling, his voice pleading. “It wasn’t my fault. Wu pulled out the gun. I just tried to push it away.” 

It couldn’t have been that hard to do. Mr. Wu was old and frail. Not much bigger than she was. An easy target for Tom, who always liked to pick on people weaker than himself. Amber’s focus was drawn to the red splatters on Tom’s shirt. 

“What happened to Mr. Wu?” She repeated slowly.

“I don’t know! The gun fired when I grabbed it. I think Wu was hit. I just ran.” Tom dragged his hand through his hair again. It was unkempt and overly long. 

Footfalls thundered up the stairs. A fist pounded on the door. A voice Amber recognized yelled, “Police!” 

“Tom Gilly - we know you’re in there. We have a warrant for your arrest.” Starsky’s partner was with him this time. His voice sounded strong and sure, fully recovered from the plague that had nearly killed him. The painful death Starsky’s devotion had saved him from. 

“Go away!” Tom yelled. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“You’ll have a chance to prove that it a court of law. But we’re taking you in.” Starsky’s voice echoed Hutch’s. Two matching forces of will Amber couldn’t imagine going up against. 

Tom looked from the window to the door. There was no way out. A powerful kick to the door caused the cheap wood to shudder. The next kick would break it down.

“He has a gun!” Amber called out.

In the next instant the door fell away from its hinges as the second kick came. Behind it Starsky, his Baretta drawn, was crouched low. Hutch was beside him, his Magnum aiming high.

Tom showed no sign of surrendering. He pointed his own weapon at Starsky and Hutch, his finger on the trigger and his hand shaking. His face was pale, beads of sweat gleamed on his upper lip. 

With quick looks to Amber, the detectives simultaneously lowered their guns.

“Tom, just calm down. Put down the gun. No one has to get hurt here,” Hutch addressed Tom, his voice soft. He inched forward, as if approaching a cornered coyote. His right hand was lifted slightly, whether to placate or protect, Amber wasn’t sure.

“Fuck you, cop. I know what’s goin’ down. You want ta put me to jail. And I ain’t goin’. I been there once already and I had enough of that scene.” His eyes blinked rapidly. His hand was shaking so violently Amber was surprised she didn’t hear bones rattle. But Hutch remained calm. He stopped where he was but didn’t retreat. 

“Shooting us will only make it worse.”

 _Christ. How could Hutch be so calm?_ Amber was terrified. Her stomach roiled with acid that threatened to come up. She realized that the only thing she could predict about Tom was that he was unpredictable. A dangerously loose canon. She realized something else, too. Someone could die here tonight. 

“You got that wrong.” Tom said. “I’m gettin’ outta here even if I have to go through you to do it.” 

“Hutch,” Starsky called softly. A warning? Or encouragement. Amber turned from the tense drama unfolding steps away and looked at Starsky. A myriad of emotions played on his face. Concern, support, admiration. Loyalty. No matter what went down, Starsky would stand by Hutch. It was more than his job. 

Amber saw something else, too. She hadn’t recognized it at first, but she knew she’d seen it before, even here in this very room. Just not in the form she’d expected. Like the graffiti in the alley next to Wu's Laundromat that changed depending on how she looked at it. The optical illusion of colors and shapes made the trash strewn alley seem almost beautiful.

She turned back to Tom. “What about me?” Amber asked Tom. “Aren’t you gonna take me with you?” The gun still threatening in Tom’s hand, she took two steps toward him. 

“Stay back, Amber,” Hutch said coolly, his eyes locked on Tom. But she pushed his velvet smooth voice aside. 

“I thought you loved me,” she said to Tom. She moved closer until she could touch him with an outstretched hand.

Tom’s agitation only deepened. His eyes flicked wildly between Amber and the cops. “What the fuck, Amber. You’re just tryin’ to mess with my head. What’s love got to do with it?”

 _Nothing. Everything._ She made a swift reach for Tom’s gun hand but he pulled away from her, his finger jerking on the trigger with the movement. The whole room seemed to reverberate with the discharge of the weapon. Hutch leaped forward instantly, taking Tom down in one stride as a hot poker speared Amber’s side. She grabbed at the pain and blood dampened her palms as it seeped through her shirt. The room began to spin and she sunk to her knees.

Starsky’s moves mirrored Hutch’s, quick and efficient. Instinctive. He grabbed the gun and had Tom handcuffed just as Amber crumbled to the floor. Hutch jerked Tom’s arms in a firm restraint so that Starsky could see to Amber. He crouched down beside her and ran his hands efficiently over her body, quickly identifying the track of the bullet along her ribcage.

Amber moaned, her side on fire. 

“Is she okay?” Hutch asked. In his grasp, Tom stood sullen and silent.

“Looks like the bullet just grazed her, but I can’t tell for sure. She’s bleeding pretty bad.” Starsky hopped up to grab a kitchen towel from the counter, then pressed it to her side. She was powerless to move away from the awful pressure.

“I’ll call for backup and an ambulance,” Hutch said and manhandled Tom out the door. Amber moaned again and found Starsky there, cradling her head from the threadbare carpet. 

“Why’d ya go and do that?” he asked gently. “We’re the ones supposed ta play hero.” The room continued to spin but he anchored her. 

Despite the dizziness and pain, there was something she needed to say. Something important. “I saw you watching Hutch - the look on your face. I could tell . . . if he got hurt - died even - you would, too. I couldn’t let that happen,” She gasped and he tightened his hold. “Pretty dumb, huh?” 

“No, not so dumb.” Starsky tried to quiet her then with a soothing “shhhhh,” but she kept on, afraid she might not get to finish. A grey fog had began to fill her vision. She couldn’t risk another interruption. 

“My life has been one big mess. I thought being with someone who loved me would fix it all. But love’s not what I thought it was. If I'm going to die, it’ll be easier knowing that it's for a good reason -- saving people who know what love really is.” The pain had changed from an electric shock to a slow burn. 

“Don’t worry. It’s gonna be alright. Hutch ‘n me, we won’t let you die.” He pressed fingers against her neck for a few seconds, then took off his jacket and tucked it around her, hovering like some misplaced guardian angel. Sirens screamed angrily in the distance. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice weak. “I’ve been dying a little bit every day. I just didn't know it.” As the room faded, the last things that remained were the touch of his hand, the sound of his voice. 

“Not anymore,” he whispered.

**FIN**


End file.
